


i'm forever yours, faithfully

by melodypond_thewomanwhomarriedme



Series: i've got every night with you [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, and huge puddles of angst, and tries to redeem himself, gotta read part 1 first tho for this to make sense, in which eleven realises he was an asshole, includes small doses of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 18:36:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13980987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melodypond_thewomanwhomarriedme/pseuds/melodypond_thewomanwhomarriedme
Summary: The moment he realises what he’s done, he breaks.He storms and kicks, pushes and punches, throws and breaks everything in the vicinity until he’ll have no choice but to redecorate. The Tardis seems to understand that he needs to do this, because she doesn’t seem hostile or unwilling to cooperate with him. He can still sense a hint of anger though, and he knows that she still hasn’t forgiven him for the way he’s treated her daughter.





	i'm forever yours, faithfully

**Author's Note:**

> This the sequel to i feel the love we share fading - it will probably make more sense if you read that first. Decided to make this into a series instead because it feels better as separate stories. idk. just felt like it. Also, I should probably mention that this is set before 'The Snowmen' because he hasn't found Vastra, Jenny and Strax yet. Or Clara.  
> Story title from 'Faithfully' by Journey.

The moment he realises what he’s done, he breaks.

He storms and kicks, pushes and punches, throws and breaks everything in the vicinity until he’ll have no choice but to redecorate. The Tardis seems to understand that he needs to do this, because she doesn’t seem hostile or unwilling to cooperate with him. He can still sense a hint of anger though, and he knows that she still hasn’t forgiven him for the way he’s treated her daughter.

When he’s done, the console room is in shreds – bits and pieces of plastic and metal strewn across the floors – some even managed to fall to the platform below – and the only thing still in place is the time rotor.

He sinks to his knees in the middle of the mess he made and sobs. He buries his face in his hands and is only mildly aware that they are covered in cuts and bruises – he’s bleeding quite profusely. It hurts. He doesn’t care.

Because nothing _hurt_ as much as knowing he’d probably destroyed the best relationship he’s ever had – romantic or otherwise. River hadn’t deserved any of the things he’s said – and though he’d meant it when he said it, he knew all those words were driven by grief and anger and the desire to make her _feel_. That didn’t mean she’d deserved it, though.

That certainly didn’t stop him from saying those things to her. Or throwing their bow tie into the middle of space –

The bow tie!

He rushes to his feet and pats off the debris, stepping over the remains of levers and buttons and wires before finally getting close enough to throw open the Tardis doors.

It’s useless, he knows, as he stares vainly at the open space in front of him, to hope beyond hope that their bow tie would miraculously float back to him, and his hands clench at his side. He plants his feet firmly onto the ground to stop himself from flinging his body to space – no matter how much he deserves it. _She_ certainly doesn’t. What she deserves is an apology, and he’d honestly rather fling himself into a supernova than make her wait for one.

He straightens up and closes the door, stepping over the debris again and making his way to the wardrobe to change into something suitable for the Singing Towers of Darillium.

*

He’s actually, _properly_ done it.

He’s rewritten time.

When he walks out of the console room, top hat on, bow tie straightened and apology speech rehearsed, the Old Girl was already done with the re-decorations. She’d turned his juvenile, cheery-looking console to a metal dungeon, and he stands back to admire the slickness of it. He approaches the new console and pats it fondly.

“Nice job, Sexy. Right,” he mutters. Let’s go find that daughter of yours so I can apologise, yeah?”

That Tardis hums slightly protectively.

“Yeah,” he says sheepishly to his ship. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

He enters the last coordinates that had been used in the ship’s files and pushes the lever. The Tardis makes the wheezing, groaning sound he so loves as it lands and he stills himself, knowing full well that River is entirely capable with a gun and that he may not be the company she wants right now. He takes a deep breath and pushes the door open.

It’s a graveyard.

It’s _the_ graveyard.

His eyes flicker to the headstone he knows all too well is bearing the names of his Ponds before he swallows and frowns, turning to his ship. He heads to the controls and enters the coordinates again, double-checking that it was the last one in the ship’s data records before pulling the lever. The Tardis takes off and lands and he knows, even as he stalks towards the doors _just in case_ – it’s still the graveyard.

He blinks – and sighs because of _course_ River would erase the coordinates she’d used before she left. It didn’t matter. He would always find her – and she would always find him.

*

Three years. Three years and he hasn’t heard a word from Post-Manhattan River.

He’s still seeing her, of course. He sees younger versions and versions still in Stormcage, but when he _finally_ bumps into a version of her that is a Professor, he never stops to consider the probability that she _hasn’t_ done Manhattan yet. Her apology is way overdue, so he just smiles wide when he sees her and she stands, shell-shocked as he calls out her name and pulls her into an enthusiastic snog. It’s only later that he realises that he’d just groped her in front of a room full of students, flushing red with embarrassment at the realisation. She was still in the middle of the lecture when he interrupted.

He flushes further under her amused gaze and predatory smirk, suddenly aware of all the students staring wide-eyed and shocked at him.

He can’t help but notice that she isn’t angry with him at all, that her jaw didn’t lock as she introduced him as her husband to the all-too attentive class – and when someone muttered ‘Lucky git’ loud enough for the class to hear, she flushes adorably as he nods in agreement.

Instead of the hostility he’s been expecting, she grins and gazes at him lovingly, and he – starved of her – grins right back as he pulls her back into his arms and buries his face in her hair.

He presses a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll wait for you in the Tardis.”

She hums and he presses another quick kiss to her lips, turning around to the Tardis that is parked in the corner of the lecture hall. He walks quickly, avoiding the students’ prying gazes and their distracting whispers that follows him.

She joins him as soon as the bell rings, stepping inside the console room and admiring the new look.

“You’ve redecorated!”

“Like it?” he asks, lounging against the console and attempting to look suave.

“I love it, sweetie.” She laughs, approaching him. She takes in his top hat and tails, biting her lip in concentration as she reaches out to straighten the bowtie. “What’s the occasion?”

“You,” he says, his gaze boring into her eyes intensely, enjoying the way her eyes lights up in surprise and her laughter fills the room. “Go change. We’re going to Darillium.”

“Really?” she sounds cautiously happy and he kicks himself again.

“Really.” He promises. “Now, go and put on some dress for me to take off later.”

“Naughty, Doctor.” She purrs, turning around and walking off, the sway of her hips hypnotizing him. It’s been way too long without his wife.

It’s only later – two Doctors, two Tardises and a mistaken landing at Calderon Beta later – that he realises River hasn’t done Manhattan yet.

“Amy and Rory are in Leadworth, then? I went into their rooms to say hello but they weren’t there.” There’s a teasing lilt to her voice as she says, “Finally got bored of you, did they?”

He was at the console, in the middle of inputting Darillium’s coordinates when he froze – was she – was she _joking?_

He turns to face her, sitting on the jump seat, her back bent over her diary as she details the encounter with his younger self. He swallows and closes his eyes, cursing his stupidity for not checking when she was and his desperation for her to be happy – he hadn’t even entertained the idea that a Professor River Song could be Pre-Manhattan.

He clears his throat and looks away, trying not to let the guilt eat him up alive as he lies, “Yeah, they needed a break for a bit.”

If she realises that his reply is much too slow to be considered normal, she doesn’t mention it. Instead, she tilts her head up at him to regard him with careful eyes. She puts the diary aside and stands up, winding her arms around him and laying her head on his shoulder.

Her hugs feel far too good and he craves her far too much and although it would be so much easier for him to apologise to a version of her that hasn’t lost her parents yet, he knows better than to change their timeline.

And after everything he’s done, Post-Manhattan River deserves an apology she would be able to place – she deserves him on his knees, begging for forgiveness. She deserves flowers and kisses and sweet nothings whispered into her ear at night. She deserves presents and love songs and a candlelit dinner under the stars.

She deserves Darillium.

His hearts ache at the thought of letting her down again, but he can’t risk it. Not this. Not them.

He sighs and holds her tight, her curls tickling his cheek. He’d been so excited to make her smile again, to make her _happy_ again, and now he was going to undo all of that.

“River,” he says tentatively, and he feels her hum in reply. “I – maybe Darillium isn’t such a good idea tonight.”

She lifts her head from his shoulder immediately and her green eyes flash with anger. He shuts his eyes at the sight.

“You _promised_.” She hisses.

“I know,” he sighs tiredly. “I know, it’s just that – well, I was hoping we could, um, we could go to those shiny caverns as Menorax again.” He gulps and when she doesn’t say anything, continues hopefully. “We could get that pasta you like from the restaurant and sit by the beach, you know how they always play those Stevie Wonder songs you like…”

He trails off hopefully and smiles tentatively at her, as if waiting for her to walk out and slam the door in his face. She takes pity on him – she can tell by the look in his eyes that he was _trying_ , and that was enough for her.

Swallowing her argument, she softens her angry gaze and relaxes her tense muscles, nodding slowly and giving him a small smile to show that he was forgiven.

He grins back and pulls her close, planting the most passionate kiss on her lips that makes her knees wobble dangerously when they part. He holds her in place, smiling smugly and she rolls her eyes, patting his cheek and moving past him to make sure that they land at the _proper_ place this time.

*

When she pulls out their bowtie to twine their hands together as they make love, his eyes water. He takes in every inch of her, worshipping her body – and if he is a touch more possessive and passionate that night, she doesn’t mention it afterwards, as they lay entwined underneath the sheets. Their hands are still tied together with the bowtie, and he looks at it longingly. He wonders what would happen if he took it back from her now – would he have thrown it at all? Would she still have said everything? Would _he_ still have said everything? He knows better than to give in to temptation though, and he just stares at their entwined hands as he pulls her closer, and she falls asleep with her nose buries in his chest.

*

She stays the customary three weeks and when the time comes for him to drop her off, he lingers at her doorstep just a touch longer than necessary. She gets the hint though – and laughs, pressing three quick kisses to his cheeks and lips, then says, “Get lost, Doctor.” – and when he pouts at her and doesn’t budge, she rolls her eyes and pulls him in for a longer kiss, hands wandering and tongues twining. They pull apart only once they’re both out of breath and panting slightly, and she gives him a breath-taking smile, standing on tiptoe to press her lips to the side of his face one last time.

“Goodbye, sweetie.” She whispers in his ear, then she turns around and shuts the door behind her.

He smiles to himself as he walks back to the Tardis, hands in his pockets. Having River around for the past three weeks, putting aside adventures for once in favour of three solid weeks spent roaming about the Tardis that he’d parked in the time vortex, doing nothing but indulging their newfound domesticity and satisfying their craving for each other was making him starved for more of her. And she’d _just_ left.

He couldn’t wait to find her and apologise, and woo her, and tell her that he wanted to stay with her for just a little bit before they went to Darillium.

Maybe he could even persuade her to stay for a _year_.

He giggles giddily at the thought, excited at the prospect of spending an entire _year_ with River – he’d make sure she _never_ doubted how important she was to him _ever_ again.

Smiling slightly, he shoves the doors open and begins his search.

*

He searches.

And searches.

And searches.

It’s been two decades since he last saw her – _twenty years_ since he’s kissed her, touched her –

It’s driving him mad.

Her tries their usual haunts – Calderon Beta, 19th century London, 24th century Paris, hell – he’s even tried finding potential expedition sites in hopes of ‘accidentally’ bumping into her.

Nothing.

Every day that passes without her he feels choked. He feels strangled by the silence echoing in his ship where there used to be sounds of her laughter, her heels clacking on the metal floors, her voice sounding utterly sinful as she purrs, “Take me to bed, sweetie.”

He can’t stand it anymore.

The bow tie he’s wearing around his neck is a painful reminder of what he’d done and what he’d lost. It feels like a snake wrapping slowly but securely around his neck, coiled tight to ensure that he has no chance of breathing properly.

Undoing the bow tie roughly, he pulls at the cloth on his neck and undoes the top button of his shirt, taking in deep breaths and hunching over the console and gripping the edge tightly.

It’s only as he refocuses that he realises there is a gentle touch against the top of his hand.

He stops breathing immediately, steeling against the gentle touch. He’s afraid to raise his eyes, but it doesn’t matter because –

“Hello, sweetie.”

His eyes fill with tears as he catches sight of her golden curls first. Loose around her shoulder, wild and untameable, just like the woman they belong to. His eyes travel downwards and meets hers and his breath catches.

Because it’s been _years_ – an eternity was what it felt like, really – since he’d seen those beautiful eyes that were the perfect mix of blue and green and he was looking straight at her now and he just so _desperately_ wants to cry.

But he remembers the last time he’d jumped to conclusions so he forces himself to get a grip – but he loses it instantly when she smiles at him.

He pulls her in and kisses her slowly, passionately, pouring everything he's afraid he won’t be able to say into the kiss. He has an arm around her waist and a hand in her hair, bending her backwards slightly with the force of his kiss. She loops her arms around his neck lazily and sighs with content, and his eyes water even more at the sound.

Once he finds the strength to pull away, she smiles that soft smile again – but this time he manages to resist the urge to give her another hello kiss.

“Been missing me, have you?” she teases, but he grins instead of pouts.

“I’m always missing you, wife.” She raises her eyebrows in shock at the admission but he doesn’t notice, pulling her in for another hug. “How did you find me?”

She bites her lip and doesn’t reply – and he suddenly notices the lack of a vortex manipulator on her wrist. He takes note of what she’s wearing as well – snow white robes down to her ankle, the floaty material brushing the floor gently. Underneath it, she dons a golden dress that accentuates her curves and is as long as the robe. It makes her look like she’s glowing – positively ethereal, almost angelic –

Realisation dawns on him as suddenly as being doused in ice cold water. His eyes widens and his jaw hangs open with disbelief as he takes a shaky step back, processing the information.

She was – she’d already –

“River,” he says desperately, and he felt like _dying_ because – “Did I take you to Darillium?”

She hesitates – and shakes her head.

He swallows, but asks the next question anyway. “When was the last time you saw me?”

She hesitates again, but he doesn’t have the patience this time as he growls out, “ _When_ , River.”

She blinks. “Manhattan.”

He stops breathing.

She eyes him carefully. His hands shake as he scrubs a hand down his face and he breathes out slowly between his fingers. He shuts his eyes against the pounding in his head.

He’s done it.

He’s actually done it.

He’d gone and went and rewrote time – he didn’t know _how_ but maybe he’d done something during that last argument with River that had resulted in this and –

 _God,_ he wants to throw himself in to the sun.

 _Not one line_ echoes around his head until he feels like his brain could split in two and he covers his face in his hands as sobs tear at his throat and the realisation hit him so fast he can barely catch a breath before sobbing again.

_He’s too late._

She is _gone,_ and so are his chances of giving her what she deserves – the entire universe. He’s destroyed their chance, _failed_ her, his _wife_ and he can’t help but hear the very last words he’d spoken to her from her perspective.

_“Don’t bother waiting for me.”_

He wants those coordinates to the supernova.

He leans against the console, but it isn’t enough to hold him up – he slips to the floor in a mess of limbs, tears falling onto his shirt. Almost immediately, he feels her sinking down onto the floor next to him, pulling him into her chest and rubbing his back in a comforting way.

He doesn’t deserve her.

“Oh darling – I promise you’ll have me anyway.” She says, wrapping her arms more firmly around him and stroking his hair gently. He must have said that last thought out loud.

He shakes his head against her, but she shushes him quietly and he stops muttering into her chest. His sobs subside eventually, but he doesn’t lift his head up from her chest. Instead, he throws his limp arms around her midriff, holding her close to him.

“I’m so, _so_ sorry, dear.” He whispers, his voice hoarse from all the sobbing.

“I know,” she says gently, fingers still stroking his hair tenderly.

“You always do, don’t you?” he mutters and lifts his head to look her in the eyes. “My brilliant wife.”

She smiles radiantly at that and he can’t help but return a watery-eyed grin. He cups her face with a hand and strokes her cheek tenderly.

“I didn’t mean it,” he swallows and drops his gaze to the floor in shame. “Any of it.”

“I know – “

“You are _not_ an obligation to me.” He says fiercely, and lifts his eyes to meet hers, genuine and intents. “You mean so, _so_ much to me and I’m sorry I was rubbish at showing it. I’m sorry for being such a lousy husband, River. You deserve so much better.”

“Sweetie – “

“No, please.” He moves his hand from her cheek to cover her mouth and she frowns, half amusement and half curiosity. “I’ve been trying to find Post-Manhattan you for _years_. I had a whole speech planned and I was going to stay for a while, too – before I took you to Darillium. I can’t do that now.” He sets his jaw and shuts his eyes, “Let me have this.”

She seems unfazed by his confession, but nods quickly anyway. He removes his hand.

“It’s been eating at me alive.” He admits softly. “The things you said to me – and what I did afterwards. How we left everything.” He swallows and avoids her eyes. “All I wanted to do since then was apologise. The only thing I could think about was how you thought I’d only married you to save myself, spend time with you because of Amy and Rory, how we only ever spent three weeks together because you thought I couldn’t bear to see you for more time than that – and how I confirmed all of that when I threw our bowtie out.”

He pauses to look straight into her eyes.

“ _Please_ believe me, River,” he whispers. “You’ve never meant anything other than _everything_ to me.”

He shuts his eyes and leans his forehead against hers, basking in the comfort of her touch. His hands find hers and he laces their fingers together, placing them on his chest so the back of her hands rests just above his hearts. He pulls away gently but keeps their hands where it is on his chest, waiting for her eyes to meet his. When they do, her eyes are watery and soft as she looks at him. She blinks slightly and a few tears escape, but he doesn’t remove his hands to wipe them away.

Satisfied that her eyes are on his, he grips her hand tighter in his, squeezing lightly until she can feel the double heartbeats beneath his ribs.

“Yours,” he swallows, eyes growing more sincere as he gazes at her with all that _love_. “Always and _completely_ yours, River.”

She shuts her eyes for a second, allowing more tears to fall before pulling him in for a wet kiss. He doesn’t mind because for _once,_ her tears are happy ones and he loves the feeling – that he’d put it there. He holds her close and sighs against her, feeling her sag her weight against him.

“I love you.” The words are out of his mouth before he even thinks of them – it takes him completely by surprise, but then he feels her grin against his neck.

It’s worth it, he thinks, saying it just to make her smile.

*

Later, as they make love, he remembers their bow tie ritual and holds out the bow tie he was wearing tentatively. She looks up at him, surprised but he shakes his head and clears his throat.

“It isn’t the same one, but – ” he sounds so apologetic and so scared that she takes pity on him. “I really am sorry I did that – if there’s one thing I could take back – ”

“It’s okay, my love.” She whispers, and takes one end of the bow tie, wrapping it around her hand. Once she's done, she places her other hand at the back of his neck and pulls his head forwards, their lips meeting in a slow kiss. They savour the taste of each other and when they break apart, her nose nudges his gently as she says, “Forgiven. Always and completely.”

He smiles at that, and proceeds to show her that she’s loved – always and completely.

*

They lay satiated in their bedroom, skin to skin. He wants as much of her as he can get if it’s going to be their last time.

They’re both on their sides, her nose pressing gently against his shoulder, an arm slung around his waist lazily. He’s toying with a curl, watching with delighted eyes as he pulls it gently and lets go, the curl springing back into place. He feels her fingers stroke the skin on his back lightly, then he feels her shift slightly, pressing small kisses to his neck and shoulder.

He lets out a sigh of content and resolves to just holding her, pressing his nose into her hair and inhaling deeply. She smells just like before – of honey and spice and vanilla and _god_ has he missed her like crazy.

He feels her smile against his shoulder and knows he must have said that last thought out loud. Her hands start to wander but he catches them quickly, lacing their fingers together again.

“How long can you stay?” he asks quietly, almost afraid of the answer.

He isn’t stupid – he knows that she is an echo, that she can’t possibly stay with him forever but all he wants with River is one last thing they’ve never had with each other.

Time.

“I don’t know.” She says honestly.

He looks into her eyes – and he can see it there, too – the dread of being left alone, without each other to hold on to. He wants to make her stay forever, but they can’t have that.

“How about we make a deal?” he says instead. “Three weeks. Stay for three weeks.”

Her lips spread into a slow smile as she kisses his jaw.

“Three weeks.” She agrees. She pulls back and raises a suggestive eyebrow. “What shall we do with all that time?”

He growls and pins her to the bed.

*

Those were the shortest three weeks of his life.

He was utterly regretting making her promise to stay for only three weeks instead of three hundred years – but he knew it was futile.

After the first week, she started to fade slowly.

Her glow was duller, her touch lighter and her voice muffled slightly whenever she talked. He made the most of it, though. They never left their bed unless absolutely necessary, never went out of sight of each other even for a moment – sleep had become optional in favour of making the most of three last weeks together. Most of it was spent making equal parts desperate and passionate love in the comfort of their bed, and when they weren’t doing that – he was verbally expressing his love, making good on his promise to never ever let make her doubt what she meant to him. And though he tried desperately to cling to her and though she tried to hold on for him, it was useless. She was fading.

He wanted to fade with her.

By their last day, her skin got so pale and he could barely touch her anymore.

“Promise me one last thing, my love,” she whispers into his ear, and he tries desperately not to think about how her voice would sound if she was actually here.

“Anything.” He says hoarsely. He’d give her anything.

“Don’t travel alone.” She says, looking into his eyes.

He looks at her and feels everything he’d never allowed himself to feel at first. He feels all the love and the heartache and the sorrow of having to continue to live without her – the unfairness of it all.

How _worth it_ everything was.

He nods.

“I love you, River.” He says again, one last time. “So, so much.”

His touch is needy and desperate, pulling her face to his and kissing her passionately, trying to memorize every inch of her even though she wasn’t whole – he’d take any piece of her he could get. He loses himself into their half-kiss because he knows that it’s their last one.

Her kiss gets lighter, and her touch fades gently into the air, and as she finally disappears he can hear her one last time:

“I love you too, sweetie.”

*

She starts haunting him. He tries to escape, hiding himself in places until he chances upon Vastra, Jenny and Strax in Victorian London. He lives among the clouds, with only the wind for company but he still sees her everywhere – she’s in the swimming pool, in the library, on the swing set in the console room – he’s even seen her in the kitchen, once. He says nothing. She’s always smiling when he’s there, but he never acknowledges her presence. It’s too painful for him to fathom – to talk to her and realise that she’s just a hallucination, or worse – to talk to her and realise that she can never come back again after that. He doesn’t know if she’s an echo, or just a hallucination his lonely mind has come up with in his grief.

He doesn’t want to find out.

 

**Author's Note:**

> There's a third part from River's pov that I haven't written yet - but I'll get to it, promise. I decided to write eleven's part first not only because of the canonical timeline in the series, but because eleven's words and thoughts come to me more naturally than River's even though she's my fav character. idk why, it just feels more natural to write eleven than river. Also, this follows canon so eleven will be twelve by the time we get to River's part. Thank you for reading! Hope it wasn't too long or disappointing hehe.


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